It’s every teenager’s dream, right? Live by the beach in the warm weather. Go tanning every day? Spring break! But.. it’s not as lovely as it seems. I’d like to thank my mother for my abnormally fair skin. Yes, I am the girl whose mother constantly nags and warns about the dangers of the sun. I’ve gotten quite used to it. In fact, I actually like my fair complexion.

For the first time all week I’ve gotten out of the house. I’ve been sick. On Spring Break. Lovely, eh?

So I went to the beach today with a couple of friends. I decided I’d let people judge. I didn’t wear my watch to cover my scars (some fresh, sadly) and I wore a bikini. If people want to judge, by all means. I, however, will not return the favor.

I had a lovely time. It’s nice to be carefree every now and then. I felt like a normal teenager for the first time in months, and I got a tan (sunburn, sunburn, sunburn). Okay, what am I kidding, I got sunburnt… a little… but my face is tanned!

I guess being an adoptee makes adoption seem more obvious in the real world. When you see a young Asian girl with white parents you immediately feel her pain, even though she might not feel it yet. Everywhere I look I see adoption. It’s like I can run, but I can’t hide. I mean, while I was in line for an ice cream some newlyweds were discussing which ethnicity of a child to get as if children were just a commodity. The sad thing is, they are. I don’t think people realize how often children are just sold.

While I was sick I was watching Lifetime movies. Mom at 16, The Pregnancy Pact, Baby for Sale, and other titles I cannot remember. Adoption, adoption, adoption.

I’m not against adoption being in the media, I’m against the way it is portrayed. There are some things that must be acknowledged with adoption.

There is loss, and there is pain.

There are some things that must be changed with adoption.

There is corruption, there is a lack of rights.

If these movies that reached thousands of people would have information that addressed the above mentioned, then I would be okay with this industry. Life isn’t a Juno, at all. Babies aren’t clean slates. Isn’t it obvious?

If you drop a child on its head as a baby, the effects would be visible. Why can’t the effects of adoption be as visible? Do people need special glasses? I’m willing to hand out pairs. It’s time we fixed this blindness.

I’ve never been anyone’s favorite. I was never daddy’s little girl, I was never his kid. This past weekend my father said some hurtful things. But when he says those words, it’s not him speaking, it’s the alcohol. I learned at a young age not to take his words to heart. He didn’t mean it, he doesn’t know what he’s saying. I wish I knew what he was like before the drinking. I wish I knew him before his breathing became labored, and his face was red from the drug.

People say “adopted children are lucky.” No, truly we are not. I have not had an easy life, that is for sure. For the past 14 years I’ve been trying to make my parents proud and have been failing greatly. All I want is a pat on the back, a job well done. I just want to be loved. Is it that hard?

The head softball coach for JV quit Monday. The assistant is now our only coach. He’s chosen his favorite, and it’s not him. I’m trying so hard to get liked, to be… noticed. I’ve grown to love infield. I can catch a popfly. I mean, I can catch a popfly. My old coach asked my friend if she’d been feeding me nails for breakfast because I’m so aggressive out there. Yet, despite my aggressiveness and my technique, I’m not good enough. One girl has an awful technique but is cute. The coach even has a nickname for her. She got to play for the full game and I was taken out after the third inning (at least I wasn’t a sub this time). And my friend, who’s been playing softball for years was playing as a sub in the second string. What’s wrong with this picture?

Well, actually. I am a favorite now. Not by my father, not by my teachers, and definitely not by my coaches. I’m someone’s “freshman.” Not like the whole “get me stuff” relationship, but more of a “you’re cool, let’s hang” type of thing. It’s pretty cool.

Plus, she can beat up the junior who made me do all her work at practice yesterday and then hit me. *sighs*

Today at school there was a huge fight. When I say huge, I mean one girl was arrested. So there were three girls. One girl is rumored to be pregnant. She was punched in the stomach and had scratches all over her face. She was unrecognizable. A lot of girls do not like her, she has the reputation of a slut. Everyone was cheering the other girls on, that’s not fair. Mob mentality.

So the girl who punched the rumored to be pregnant girl in the stomach was arrested (I cheer on the inside)

I think that this could be interpreted as a metaphor for adoption. Some agencies are just so brutal with trying to get babies. They’re methods are blinding, and like this the effects of the punches may not be felt right away but they soon will come. And, if this is a metaphor for adoption, then it is a hopeful one. Hope is something that just shines light on the dark spots and makes them better because forgetting is worse than the pain of remembering.

I’ve gotten comfortable in my own skin, heck I’m comfortable enough to talk to people which is a step up from a few weeks ago. I’m pretty sure it was my adoption issues/bullying issues that prevented me from opening my mouth. Actually, it was my bullying issues but my adoption issues exacerbated their effects. I was afraid people would hurt me and then leave me: all truth lost in the separation. That bugged me.

Seeing the fight today reminded me how things are so much better. Last year a few girls threatened to kill me on numerous occasions. It was very scary for me to hear those things, the words just scarred. I would hide in my bedroom under the covers with my doors and windows locked. People were cheering those girls on when I got hurt last year. I know what it’s like.

I’m not their victim, I survived. Like many others, I’ve gotten through this. I’m climbing a new mountain, right now is a new search for truth.

So after a slew of depressing songs and a waste of an entire day perusing my snaps of various happy memories, I have stopped feeling awful.

I didn’t ask to be adopted, frankly I wish I would’ve been aborted. My day would’ve been a whole lot easier if I didn’t see the softball photographer’s face today. She looked just like my mom. I broke down in the dugout. Then of course all the annoying girls are like, “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” SHUT UP! I DON’T WANT YOUR EFFING HELP!!!

And at softball one girl pelted me in the face with like 3 softballs. They aren’t soft fyi.

OH! And so Friday this some girls were playing in the outfield with me (they were texting) and completely ignoring what was going on. So I was running the ENTIRE effing outfield. That’s a lot. A LOT. One girl gave the coach attitude about being in the outfield and how she wanted to play infield. So my coach tells her “Attitude won’t get you anywhere, you need to PROVE to me that you can play infield. You are far from there.” So today who does he put infield? Yep. And who has a bruise on her face?

So, that’s wonderful, right? Later on, I was going to bat and the first throw hit me in the ankle (hard enough for me to fall down and have tears). I hate crying in public. I hate it. My ankle is HUGE. Really big. I ended up scoring a run. Yay!

I’m just so sick of school, softball, and adoption. Invisibility, too…

My birth certificate is false. My adoptive mother did not carry me for nine months. She did not give birth to me either. My adoptive father just handed over the cash and once the transaction was done, returned to his alcohol abuse. I wasn’t given a proper mother or father. My parents are old enough to be my grandparents. My father has never been a father and my relationship with my adoptive mother is non-existant.

My English teacher told us once that the most efficient lie you tell is the one you tell yourself. Since then, I’ve always been wondering how to tell myself the truth if it is unknown. I lie to myself about my appearance, I tell myself that if I skip that one meal everything will be okay. I lie to myself about my cutting. I say it’s not a big deal and that I can stop whenever I want to.

When one of my teachers told me in first grade that I was a “hooker baby” I didn’t know what it meant. When I finally got to the age where I could understand it, I kept telling myself it was all a lie, just an ignorant statement. Recently, I’ve found startling information that is proving otherwise. If you’ve kept up with my blog you’d know that I’m pretty sure I’ve found my first mother. A friend of mine did some more searching and said she found an escort ad by my mother.

What does this mean? My friend keeps insisting that I am not a hooker baby. Sometimes, you just have to see things as the come at you. I wish I could just know the truth right now, I wouldn’t have to do this thinking. I wish…

I was conceived in a web of lies and untangling them is one of the hardest things to do.

Sigh, I guess I should be used to rejection. After all my experiences with it at school it’s shocking that I can’t take it this once. Lemme rewind. A few nights ago I was searching through my adoptive mother’s room and I found an article about adoption. There were so many similarities with mine that I’m pretty sure it was mine. So the article confirmed that my mother was a teenager. So I begin to search classmates.com and high school alumni sites around the hospital I was born in for pregnant teens in my birth year. I find a name, she was proud of giving me up. She loved the experience. She was recommending it to others because she loved it so much.

In the article she said that adoption was the easiest decision that she’s ever had to make. It was easy to give me up? Me?!? ME?!? ME?!?

I threw up when I read that. It was so sickening. I’m not wanted anywhere. Where do I fit? At school? Nope… Home? Not really. I’m not wanted. It’s times like these where I wish I would have been aborted. It would have been easier on her and caused no pain. And, not to mention, I wouldn’t even know what happened so please do not take this as suicidal thoughts because that is the last thing on my mind.

That aside, yesterday at school, a popular girl made the comment that all ugly people should die. She was staring directly into my eyes. So, I’m invisible and hated. glorious!!!

Last week I skipped so many meals that it’s sickening to even think about it. Call it stress, call it a stage but whatever it is it’s obviously not healthy and this week I am attempting to resolve that.

OH! And stress!!! These past two months I’ve been getting in daily arguments with my mother. I really cannot see what is provoking them. I mean, I’ll walk out of the house in a t-shirt and she calls me a whore. I work on an essay that I have to write but she doesn’t like how I worded it. I’m under so much stress right now I could scream. It’s verbal blows, that’s what it is.

Right now I want a hug, or to cry, or a song that will make me cry. Anything really.